The bandit began screaming again as he hurriedly scurried upright, And when the bulkhead slammed open once again, emitting the roaring countenance of the being who had burned his man to cinders, crossbow bolt still wedged in his chest, the bandit collapsed. Perhaps he failed even to feel the rib-shattering blow when a roaring Sorn shoved him away with supernatural strength as he himself plunged into the waters. The force of Sorn's blow was sufficient to send the bandit flying over the far end of the stern, gracelessly splashing into the water below.
8
So this is how it ends, Baler thought dazedly as his mind drifted off in a shocked daze and he began to feel like he was floating, his mind rapidly drifting into delirium as his brain began the gentle process of shutting down as he slowly began to drown. Too weak to keep his head above water, his crushed chest and lungs, punctured by multiple pieces of shattered rib, were incapable of drawing in lifesaving breath in any case. He felt at peace with this gentle ending to this horrible night and accepted it.
Sadly, however, such was not to be as Baler was torn from the delirium’s pleasant embrace by a blistering searing pain so agonizing that Baler was jolted completely awake, every nerve-ending screaming in pain, and he would have screamed long and hard indeed had his shredded lungs and shattered ribs been capable of sucking anything in. Yet he was hardly aware of that comparatively mild discomfort as the blistering agony of having his torso completely bitten off and swallowed whole continued to roar through him. The last sensations he felt in the cold darkness of the sea was the terrible grinding of teeth as that fearsome maw quickly snapped up the rest of him too.
Though he would never know it, poor Balor was not the only rogue to meet such a fate that night. In fact, none of the fleeing swordsmen swimming madly for the docks that were not so far off would make their desperate goal. Their own small boats had been sunk by some dark unnamed presence, forces unseen effortlessly crushing wooden boards, dragging them into the sea. Not satisfied apparently with the destruction of said boats, that dark presence began hunting those passengers down, one by one.
A consummate predator, the panicked mercenaries' scent and vibrations allowed for effortless tracking by the dark sinuous shape. The creature was discernible only as an inky blob against the dark sea, huge in size, winding its way snakelike through the waters. The remaining three desperately swimming mercenaries knew they were being hunted when the first of the three gave off a terrified screech before his thrashing form was pulled deep into the black darkness, and all was once again quiet save for the gentle rocking of the waves.
Sharing a single horrified glance, the two remaining swimmers put everything they had into their exhausted strokes. Far more worried about other matters than whether or not they would survive their next battle, heavy boots, sword belts, and leather vests had already been dropped into the sea in a desperate bid to conserve their energy and avoid drowning. Yet it was a fruitless quest. The remaining man whimpered in terror as a second loud screech followed by panicked thrashing broke the otherwise still night. Blubbering tears were quickly washed away by the salty water as the final swimmer desperately pushed himself past exhaustion, picking up his pace all the more. He could all but feel the fearsome jaws of an unknown predator closing fast around him, and could imagine with perfect clarity the searing pain that would ensue when those terrible teeth bit savagely into his flesh and tore him down into the blackness of the sea to be devoured alive.
The panic inspired by his fevered imagination caused his stroke to increase beyond what any veteran swimmer would have accounted an amateur capable of. Yet sadly for him this was insufficient, and it turned out that despite all his fevered imagery, the actual feel of black jaws closing around his torso and biting savagely into his flesh was far more agonizing than he could possibly have envisioned, and he was to learn in those final moments that his fevered imaginings had been completely inaccurate on one point. He was not dragged into the depths by the fearsome grip of some black monster's maw. Rather, he was bitten cleanly in half, his scream cut short as his sprayed entrails dribbled out to sea, his shriek of blistering agony to be cut short into an awful gasp. Moments later his torso too was engulfed by that great maw, and of his final thoughts, there were none coherent as vicious front teeth closed upon his skull, ending the man's frantic shrieking awareness with a final, effortless crunch.
And the sea once more was silent, save for the waves lapping against a sinuous inky darkness swimming so very like a massive sea snake as the creature searched for a place of refuge, a dark nook to call its own.
Back on the ship, Fitz and his brothers wore mirror expressions of shock at the sight of their cousin launching himself out to sea, simultaneously realizing that he had been injured as well. "Sorn!" Fitz cried out, already aching to comfort his poor cousin, feeling an instinctive desperate need to console and help him that would not be denied. At that moment, a heaving pale-faced Halence charged onto the main deck as well, the triplets too shocked at their brother's plight to even register the dripping stump where Halence's finger had been.
"Lads, where is he? He's been injured, took a bolt right in the chest. We have to get him to a healer now!" At that moment he registered the blood-spattered triplets, the twisted figures of his fallen crewmen, and the frequently decapitated corpses of the fallen bandits that littered his decks as well. "Ye gods, what's happened here?" he cried, his voice more in shock than anything else. "Lads, what are you doing?!?" Halence near screamed when he saw all three of Sorn's cousins as one run off the prow of the ship into the waters below.
"Vaughn?" Halence roared. "I need you here now!"
"Vaughn is down," came the tentative voice of Sebrie, almond eyes luminous in the lamp light. "As are many others."
"Does anyone know the extent of injuries? All right, then. Sebrie, grab two men and man the lifeboat. Sorn and his damn fool cousins went over the side of the ship. We may have to drag them out. Thorn, you're now second in command. Take half the remaining crew and set watch for trouble from all quarters. All of you best keep your weapons close at hand from this point forward. Just use your head, lest you end up shooting one of our own! That especially goes for Sebrie and the lifeboat. Remember, we do have friends out there. The rest of us are going to take care of the wounded, bring this ship to port, and get our men to the healers now!"
Voice snapping with authority, Halence directed his crew in searching for and stabilizing survivors, those few who knew about the patching of wounds being thankfully among the uninjured.
Sebrie, lifeboat now cast loose, began a slow careful circuit around the ship. He saw no trace of his friends, not even a ripple. Sadly, nothing could be made out in this inky blackness, save the reflection of stars in the water, and he could find no trace of his companions at all. He could sense nothing save the coppery scent of blood in the water.
Sebrie and his companions did not give up their search, however, the rowboat continuously plying the waters as the ship slowly made its way to dock with the port.
"Thorn," Halence called to his new second, a sturdy looking man with sandy hair in his mid-thirties. His eyes denoted a quiet competence. "I'm going to accompany our men to the healers." Thorn nodded solemnly. "Yes, Captain."
"Keep an eye out for Sebrie and send a runner in case Sorn or his cousins show up. We'll get them to the healers straight away."
Thorn gave Halence a second curt nod, near military in his posture and deference.
Halence shook his head. "Damn it, I thought I trained my men better than this."
"The fault was not yours, sir. The men came aboard quiet as silk, all unexpected. We were caught completely off guard, even though we thought we had our eyes peeled for trouble. The men on the foredeck were expertly cut off. Only two of us were up here with crossbows near at hand, and only one of us had kept it loaded for our shift."
Thorn shook his head. "We have never had to deal with any attack like this before, even when we had served. I got off a bolt and took a man down, b
ut our men were getting carved before the three lads burst from the bulkhead that several of the raiders had bolted down, don't ask me how, and proceeded to carve their own way into those bastards' flanks. The mercenaries' formation broke immediately, and our men scurried to safety up here. We managed to get our crossbows out and loaded, but by then those poor sods were already halfway butchered by our golden-haired lads. We did manage to take out the two crossbowmen taking beads on the boys, at least."
Thorn gave a grim chuckle. "For the life of me, Captain, I have never seen so many heads fly in a single battle before! And the lads were making jokes of it, no less. Good tactic, too," Thorn reflected. "Broke their morale. Three ran right off the deck rather than face them." Thorn sighed. "Whatever those lads armaments, t'wern't common steel. One of them took a massive blow straight to his gut. I thought for sure our poor boy was down, but I swear, sir, he didn't even flinch. Only got a warning about Sorn's displeasure if Sorn knew he had been caught off guard, so to speak. I swear, sir, it was like the battle was nothing but a lark to the boys."
Thorn shook his head wryly, but then looked concerned. "I can't figure why they all jumped off the ship, and I pray they didn't all drown. I didn't get a good look at Sorn, but he ran like a man possessed, fairly smashing that whimpering fellow clean off the far side of the prow." Thorn shook his head in wonder. "He must have sailed a good twenty feet."
"Sorn was injured," Halence said grimly. "Took a crossbow bolt straight to the chest."
Thorn's eyes widened. "Then how in the name of the gods was he even able to stand, and why did he jump off the ship?"
"I don't know. But that was no light crossbow, and that bolt could have dented even steel plate. It should have gone straight through Sorn, but it didn't. It looked wedged in bad, however." The look Halence flashed Thorn was an intent one. "And even with that bolt in his chest, he burned one man to a cinder with fiery bolts as fierce as any magical missile I've ever seen, and single-handedly took down that hulk you will see in my quarters. That man was a bloody ogre, yet Sorn's wrist didn't even bend with the parry. He cleaved the man's forearm with a move the envy of any fencer, before running the man through. This from a lad with a crossbow bolt stuck in his chest."
Thorn looked quizzically at the captain. "You make it sound like he was fencing."
Halence smiled. "He was."
Thorn frowned. "The sword Sorn dropped when he jumped off the ship was no fencing blade. It was a broadsword, a shieldman's weapon meant for striking with power sufficient to cleave off limbs or sheer through even boiled rawhide in the hands of a professional, and hit hard enough to give even a man clad in mail pause. It could crush your windpipe or cripple your limbs with strikes to legs and elbows, even if it can't burst mail. The weapon has its strengths, but it sure as blazes is not balanced for a fencer's parry, though it has a pretty enough hilt forged to it, I'll grant you. There is no way a lad his size could wield such a blade as that like a saber."
"Nonetheless, Thorn, he did." Halence sighed. "I sure as hell hope Sebrie finds him. Whatever his strength, I just hope it holds out long enough for us to get him to a healer. Now I have men to take care of. Guard our ship well, Thorn."
Thorn solemnly nodded his head. "All men not on cleanup will be on the top deck with crossbows ready and waiting. They sure as hell won't catch us off guard again."
Halence nodded his approval. "And let me know as soon as you hear any word from them. Sorn saved my life, of that I have no doubt. I won't let him die on me if I can help it." Halence frowned, gazing down at his injured hand. "We've lost too many friends that way."
Thorn nodded his understanding. "Let me know how Vaughn is doing. I'm sure he'll have words for us as soon as he's up and talking."
Halence chuckled. "On that, I have no doubt. Well then, I'm off."
9
The waters were cool and dark, soothing to his form as he undulated through the sea. Great body effortlessly gliding through the waters, the creature searched only for a safe place to curl up and rest. His questing senses found it soon enough. A small sandy alcove surrounded on three sides by the jagged overhanging face of a rocky shoreline. Waves gently washing its edges, it was sheltered and safe, promising sanctuary. He soon registered the comforting presence of fellow swimmers emerging from the sea, wrapping their bulk protectively about him, forming a nest with snouts facing instinctively in all four cardinal directions, prepared for any threat. He was soothed by their familiar scent and slept the deep thoughts one of his kind did when injured, even though he appeared in all ways exceedingly fit and hale for his size.
He dreamed of a man. Not yet fully adult, the figure was modest in stature, possessing dark black hair, and eyes of a piercing blue that looked more like twin sapphires than they did the eyes of a human. He could feel that man's wound as the flesh, so carefully constructed, so thoroughly enforced with essences of binding, had nevertheless been cruelly pierced. It had been an injury so grievous as to have punctured the very organ of life contained therein.
Within his deep echoing cavernous thoughts, he first tried to imagine the wound reversing itself, the wound disappearing as if the wound had never been, sinking back into time. The headache this caused him as he felt the figure's memories also being forced to unwind was unpleasant, however, so he reversed the imagery, and thought instead of other ways to deal with the broken image.
He projected his awareness deep into the basic components of his carefully constructed creation, could feel their counterpoint and reflection of his own essence that gave them true life, his connection with it being so fundamental that his essence echoed freely between the two forms.
His form was well made and would not remain ageless like a less mastered form might. Rather, its basic minuscule units would age in a pattern similar to that of the being that had created the figure in the first place. Such was necessary to truly immerse his essence within it, even so far as to blend his thoughts, memories, and points of view with those of his construct.
At the moment, his contact with it was shut down and so he was not merged with it as he had been for so long. Indeed, he found it almost odd to be thinking solely with the crystalline purity of his true form once more, free of the passions and perspective of a human boy that he had allowed to color his judgment for so many moons. It was a synergism he thought he was learning much from, but stasis was necessary to prevent further deterioration and to repair the damage done.
Carefully he visualized repairing the strands damaged, one by one; coercing the basic cellular matrix to reform the threads so vital to the homeostasis of the being as a whole. He fused each strand with powerful binding energies comprised of his own essence, working with steady, assured competence, repairing the matrix with exquisite instinctive precision.
As any craftsman could attest to, however, repairing a masterwork was a slow, careful process, when it could be done at all. It was only upon feeling the sun almost directly overhead basking them in its brilliance that he thought consciously of his environment once again. He was immediately aware of the fact that it must be late morning for the sun to have warmed his scales so thoroughly, such was the angle of their little alcove.
He registered also the warm comforting presence of his cousins rubbing their scales contentedly against his own, and he sensed their hunger as well. He knew that there were many warm-blooded things around him to eat, could smell the sweet scents of thousands upon thousands of them, and wondered why he was so reluctant to delve into them.
Ah yes. They shared a shape similar to his construct. As such, he felt a curious empathy for them when he was in that state, and felt pained to see them come to harm. At least those he wasn't mad at, he reflected. He recalled then the stress and turmoil, the roiling of emotions he felt echo through him when he merged his mind with that of his construct, especially when he took its form outright.
Briefly, he considered abandoning it. Shedding it forever, and once again taking to the skies to revel gloriously in his true pow
er, to feast as he chose and do what he would. He knew his cousins, who followed his lead in all things, would not hesitate to join him. There were no females of his race here, however, and that was sad. One day he knew he would want a nest of his own. He also felt a curious reluctance to abandon this form that he had worked so hard to create years ago, a form that he had spent much of his life striving to master. He had gained so many interesting experiences while immersed with it, despite its disturbing tendency for troubling reflections. He hardly wanted to just throw all that away.
Besides, a dragon never abandoned that which he claimed as his own. Waste was unthinkable. Sorn, after all, was his.
Ultimately he chose to keep it, and spent some further time repairing the injuries to his construct. In his mind's eye, he was gently coaxing the strands of its being to bloom and settle into their proper places, infusing the form entire with as much of his essence as it would take. The form was already extremely resilient, of course, but he was anxious for his construct to be as sturdy as possible. Fortunately, its practice in channeling arcane energies was steadily strengthening it, and all in all, he was proud of his creation.
He was, however, just a bit irritated by the pimples that marred its once perfect features, a dark haired counterpoint to his cousins' gold and silver-haired, more elfin forms. Yet even this was a mark of how well crafted his construct was, of how well he had learned the lore of shapes. For this body mirrored his own body's development in truth. Just as he was an adolescent dragon going through all the changes his people did, so too Sorn mirrored him in human development.
Peril & Profit Page 17
